


Scenes from After the End

by pipisafoat



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The (happy yet angst-filled) aftermath of Marshall's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes from After the End

The first time she saw him, it was one month and three days after That Day. She wasn't drinking (unless coffee counted, and it didn't, because it was Stan's swill, not Marshall's brew), she wasn't asleep (though the sheer amount of paperwork she suddenly found herself plowing through almost had her there), and she was pretty sure nobody had drugged her (the coffee was still questionable, though). He was sitting in his desk chair, feet on his desk, watching her over his coffee cup.

"That better not be any better than what I have," Mary muttered to herself, turning back to her computer. "Trust me to hallucinate good coffee." She firmly ignored the fact that she was also seeing her dead partner, or she tried to. A feat hard to accomplish when he decided to come stand in front of her desk.

"If it's any consolation, I can't actually taste it," her hallucination told her.

She cocked her head and squinted at him. "How is that supposed to make me feel better about being insane?"

He shrugged and took another sip from his mug - an unchipped version of his prized Marshals Service tankard. "Maybe you aren't insane. Or maybe you are, but me experiencing better coffee than you is more important." He tipped the mug so she could see inside. "The secret is in the beans. Sumatra Mandheling dark. It's a little pricey, but completely worth it."

"Beans," she scoffed. "That's what you're here to tell me about."

"They're not actually beans," he corrected, sitting on the edge of her desk. "The coffee plant is actually in the family Rubiaceae, which does not form pods or produce beans. What we call coffee beans are actually the seeds of the fruit."

She dropped her head against the desk with a loud thunk. "Jesus."

"You okay, Mary?" When she lifted her head, Marshall was gone, and Stan was leaning over her desk.

"Fine," she snapped at him. "You try doing the work of two people. No, wait, ten people. I forgot we were already overloaded before--"

The unsaid hung almost tangibly between them for a moment, broken only when Mary shook her head. "Whatever. Did you want something, or should I get back to my job?"

"Yes," he said unhelpfully.

"Well, which?"

He sighed and reached across the desk to put a hand on her shoulder. "You need a new partner."

"The hell I do," she spat at him, and he jerked his arm back like he'd been burned. "I'm doing fine on my own."

"You look like shit," he said bluntly, crossing his arms. "Security says you sleep here most nights, and if you do leave, it's only for four or five hours. I'm not asking, Inspector. You're getting a new partner."

"The hell I am," she repeated. "I'll leave before I let you replace … him … so soon."

Stan sighed again and seemed to deflate. "I'm not replacing your friend," he told her quietly. "Think of it as me hiring you an assistant."

Mary stood and hit the power button on her monitor. "Think of this as me leaving for more than four or five hours."

* * *

  
"Just think about it," Marshall nearly begged her, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her as she ate lunch. "I'm sure I can help you with the paperwork like this, now that you can see me, but I can't carry a gun. At least, not one that would help you a whole lot. Get a partner or hire a bodyguard."

"Make me," she retorted through a mouthful of pizza.

"That's only somewhat disgusting."

She shrugged and grinned. "You're a figment of my imagination. I can do whatever I want when you're around."

"If I'm a figment of your imagination, why am I disgusted by something that wouldn't disgust you?"

"You're just as disgusted as I _imagine_ you to be," she answered smugly.

"And, what, you imagined all that information about the coffee earlier?" He raised an eyebrow and spread his arms, bowing exaggeratedly. "I win."

She tossed an easily-dodged slice of pepperoni at him. "Do not. You've probably blathered on about it before. Subliminal knowledge."

"Subconscious," he corrected, "and I doubt it, but I'll figure out how to prove it to you later."

"Later. Because you know you can't prove it."

He made a face. "Later, because you're trying to keep me off topic now. Tell Stan you'll at least try out a new partner."

"Make me," she answered again. "I need to be doing my job, not training some kid to do yours."

"Like anyone would ever take on all aspects of what my job was," he laughed. "I expect to still be your best friend, no matter who you get as a partner."

She grinned. "So why bother getting a partner?"

"How about to keep you alive?" He shook his head when Mary just shrugged. "We'll talk about that later, then. How about because I say so?"

"Since when do I do anything you say?"

"Since you can't punch me for bossing you around." He dodged another pepperoni and smirked at her. "You'll give in before morning. Just remember that I don't need sleep."

"What are you going to do, stare at me until I cave?"

Marshall stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and leaned back on his hands. "Haven't you seen Ghost?"

"You're a hallucination, not a ghost, idiot."

"The movie. With Patrick Swayze and Whoopi Goldberg."

She laughed. "Do I look like the kind of girl who watches Patrick Swayze movies?"

"Sure. The kind who complains loudly but still secretly enjoys them." He winked at her glare. "I learned a lot from that movie, including all the words to the song that will have you caving before morning."

"Don't. You. Dare."

 _"I'm Henry the eighth I am, Henry the eighth I am I am…"_

Mary threw a whole slice of pizza at his head. "Fine! I'll meet the goddamn new partner, but that's as much as you're getting."

Marshall grinned and pulled some cheese off his cheek. "That's all I'm asking." He popped the cheese in his mouth and frowned. "I hope this tastes better to you than it does to me."

"Doubtful."

* * *

  
She wasn't used to waking up to someone watching her, but Marshall's eyes were fixed on her face, and he smiled when she looked at him.

"Got some bad news, Mer."

She yawned and pulled her second pillow over her heed. "I already know it's morning. How much worse could it get?" When he didn't answer, she dragged the pillow off her face. "What are you doing in my house, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Watching you sleep, I guess. It'll come back to you."

Mary looked at him for a minute before sighing. "Oh, hell. Is that your bad news?"

"That isn't news at all. The bad is that you aren't going to like your new partner."

"And the good news is, I can convince Stan to get rid of him right away."

Marshall shrugged again and stood up. "Get dressed. No point in delaying the inevitable. I'll meet you at the office."

"Hey," she called after him, and he turned back to face her. "Can anyone else see you?"

"My sister's dog." She frowned at the sadness in his voice.

"No wonder you're hanging around me."

"You know I would anyway."

She grinned. "I'd give you hell for the rest of eternity if I found out you'd followed around some other girl, even if it is your sister."

"And don't I know it." He started out again but hesitated in the doorway. "You know, if you don't want me around, I can--"

He easily dodged the pillow thrown at him. "Of course I want you around, doofus. What good is it to be insane if my own hallucination doesn't want to hang out with me?"

"Oh, come on, you don't look insane, just like you're talking to yourself."

She rolled her eyes. "So no smartass comments around other people. And don't try to start a conversation, either. I already have to see a shrink, but you probably already know everything I've said to her."

"Doctor-patient confidentiality should apply, even if nobody knows I'm there," he argued. "I wait outside for your session to be over. I can only hear as much as the receptionist… which means every time you cuss and scream, I get a nice earful."

"Oh, get out of here before you get an eyeful. Weren't you the one in a hurry for me to meet the partner I won't like anyway?

* * *

  
"Hi!" Mary stared at the hand thrust in her face. "I'm Jessica."

"You're a girl." She turned on Marshall, who was standing conveniently next to Stan. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Marshall just shrugged, but Stan frowned. "You know, Inspector, you are also female."

"Yeah, but she's not a girl," Marshall correcting, rolling his eyes.

"Female and girl and two very different things, Stan. And I don't do girls."

Jessica looked at Eleanor. "So are you female or a girl?"

"She's a girl and a man," Mary answered. "The worst parts of both. Stan, I'm not working with her."

"She's guaranteed one month here before we decide you're impossible and transfer her."

"So you work with her, and I'll keep doing my job the way I like it." _Over here, alone - or with Marshall - with headphones in my ears so I don't have to hear you trying to get me to play nice._

To his credit, Marshall waited for the others to leave the room before perching on the edge of her desk and pulling the headphones out of her ears. "She's good at her job."

"I don't like her," Mary retorted quietly.

"I know. You couldn't work with her. All I'm saying is that she's good at her job."

"What, give credit where credit's due?"

He smiled. "Something like that. She won't last the month, anyway. You'll have someone else in a week or two."

Mary sighed and turned back to the file in front of her. "I don't want someone else unless it's you reincarnated as them."

Marshall echoed her sigh and sat quietly for a minute before smiling. "You know, according to the accepted authorities on reincarnation--"

"There are accepted authorities on reincarnation?"

"--I would have been born at the same moment that I died. You might be waiting a long time if you want my reincarnation to grow up and get a badge."

* * *

  
"Inspector Shannon."

Mary looked up from her computer to see an unfamiliar man in a suit. "No, that lazy bitch didn't come in today. I'm just her secretary."

"Hmm." He took a pen off her desk and made a note on his clipboard. "I'll be back in one hour. Please make sure she's here to see me."

"Jesus, what's the big emergency? Can't a hard-working woman take a day or two off?"

The man frowned. "I can't discuss it with anyone other than Inspector Shannon."

"Fine, that's me. Now dish." She leaned back in her chair and stuck her feet on the desk, tossing her badge in his direction. "Here's proof if you actually fell for the secretary routine."

He frowned even deeper. "Inspector, I've been sent to inform you of Inspector Anderson's new assignment."

Mary raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's that, and why do I care?"

"Your partner, Inspector."

"I don't have a partner," she replied. "Probably won't for a long time, since my higher-ups have insisted my entire career on sticking me with incompetent morons. I'm better off if I don't have to babysit any more than absolutely necessary."

"You seemed to get along well with your previous partner."

"Fuck you."

"Inspector Shannon, you will treat me with respect, and you will treat your new partner with respect, or there will be permanent consequences." The man made another note on his clipboard, humming as he wrote.

Mary laughed. "You haven't bothered to tell me who you are, and I have a hard time respecting a flower-and-unicorns type. Find me someone I can respect, and then we can talk again. For now, I have work to do." She sat up abruptly, grabbed her pen out of his hand, and flipped open the first file she found.

A hand came down and slammed it shut. "Inspector Shannon, you don't seem to grasp exactly what I'm telling you here."

"Maybe if you bothered to actually tell me something..." She met his eyes and smiled sweetly.

"Your partner - Inspector Anderson - has been reassigned."

"Good."

"You have a new partner - Inspector Hopkins."

She laughed. "Sure, whatever you say."

The man nodded. "Yes, Inspector Shannon. Exactly what I say. You will be his partner in more than just name, no matter how much you may hate him. Let me make this clear to you - I do not care about your feelings. I care about results. You will continue to see your therapist until your Chief has convinced me that you are healthy again. If there is no significant improvement in your attitude within the next two months, your employment will suffer. Now, are you ready to meet your new partner?"

It took Mary an extra moment before she answered. "Fuck off. I have places to go."

He smiled slightly and glanced towards the door. "Inspector Hopkins, she isn't to leave this building on business without you."

A large redheaded man grinned and winked at Mary. "Not a problem, Boss. Not a problem at all."

* * *

  
"I don't like him," Marshall said, stealing one of Mary's chips. "And it's not just because it took you all of two weeks to decide you don't hate him."

"Oh, but it is partly because of that?"

He shrugged. "You hate everybody except this guy. What's to like about that?"

"I don't hate you," she reminded him.

"Yeah, well, I'm dead, okay? It doesn't exactly count."

"I didn't hate you when you were alive, either."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Well, I still don't like him. Have you read his record?"

"Most of it's locked," she answered. "But you already know that, which means you've read it, and there's something you want me to know. Hack me in under Stan's name?"

He shook his head. "You know we have to sign off on any after-hours access. You'd either admit to knowing things you aren't supposed to, or Stan changes his password and sends the information downstairs, and when they tell him it was from your house, you'd admit to knowing things you aren't supposed to. No deal."

"So you've memorized what you think are the pertinent facts." She logged in as herself anyway and pulled up the file.

"Yeah." He stole another chip and leaned back into the couch. "Matthew Gilbert Hopkins. Marshal for 18 years, Witness Security for-"

"Seven. I can read. His record isn't as good as yours, but he's stronger than you. I'm good enough to cover his weaknesses."

Marshall frowned and poked her in the leg. "I'm not worried about you saving him, Mer."

She shrugged and looked away. "And I'm not planning to be in the position to need saving. What was it you wanted to me know?"

"What happened to his last three partners."

Her computer obligingly showed her the information. "The last one retired… a little early, but nothing suspicious."

"Plenty suspicious. Hopkins was too busy flirting with the witness to defend her, and his partner - who, by the way, was being good enough to cover his weaknesses - got shot in the shoulder."

Mary cringed. "That's pleasant. Still, that's one of those mistakes you don't make twice. Anything that gets your partner shot… it sticks with you."

"I know," he said gently. "That's not the worst of it, though. The partner before that was a woman who quit due officially to personal reasons. Teaches at Quantico now, actually, rather than do the job she was quite good at."

"So the personal reasons are apparently related to Hopkins somehow. Romantic entanglement gone wrong, resigned instead of getting sacked?"

"Not quite. He raped her, Mer." Marshall picked absently at a threadbare spot on the couch, not looking up. "He raped his partner and wasn't considerate enough to leave behind enough evidence even for an arrest."

She paused, thought for a minute. "Could easily be a false accusation."

"From four different coworkers at four different offices. One more from before he was a marshal. Records are sealed, the victims don't know each other even now, but they all reported that it was him, with the same MO. Never enough to get him arrested." His eyes finally jerked up to meet her gaze. "I've seen the way he looks at you, Mer. Just be careful, that's all I'm saying."

"I'll kick his ass if he tries anything," she promised.

"And mine if he doesn't, I'm sure," Marshall groused, obviously relieved to have told her. "No sense of gratitude."

She shrugged. "No point in gratitude. Besides, I already owe you more than I know how to pay a dead man."

"Hey," he whispered, taking her hand, "we're partners. You don't owe me anything."

"Not even your life?" She tried to jerk away from Marshall's grasp, but he pulled her back.

He waited until she was still, resolutely not looking at him but clutching his hand nonetheless, before speaking, slowly, softly. "I'm not going to lie," he told her. "If you could give me back my life, I'd do anything for it. But you can't. And you wouldn't owe it to me even if you could. I don't know why you think you do, but I do know this: it wasn't your fault."

"The hell it wasn't," she spat quietly. "My witness, my plan, my--"

"Your witness, who lived to testify at his trial thanks to your plan."

"My partner, hanging out with me as a ghost thanks to my plan."

"You didn't pull the trigger."

She laughed, and the sound was so desperate all he could do was hug her. "Next time I'll be sure to."

"Killing Hopkins isn't going to bring me back," he mumbled into her hair.

"Wasn't him I was going to aim for."

His arms tightened around her, and he whispered her name over and over to the top of her head. "Are you still seeing Shelly?" he asked finally.

She nodded. "You're crazy if you think I talk about this to her."

"No, I know you don't, but you should. She could help."

"More than having you around does?"

He shrugged and fell silent. For a long time, the only sound in the room was their breathing and the ticking of the clock. Marshall finally shifted and nudged Mary off him. "Go to bed. I'll clean up your dinner."

"Are you staying here tonight?"

"Where else would I go?"

She stood and looked down at him. "I know you check in on your family some nights," she told him, and he nodded.

"I'm staying here.

"Sleep with me?"

He hesitated. "If you want."

"And you're coming with me the next time I get my head shrunk."

Marshall raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you planning to tell Shelly you see dead people?"

"Dead person, moron," she corrected. "Just you, but no. She probably already thinks I'm insane."

He shrugged and reached for her plate. "For a psychologist, she's open to a lot," he told her. "You could convince her I'm real."

"Or she could decide I'm too crazy to do my job, and you know what that means. Just come with, sit down, and shut up."

"Yes, ma'am. Go to bed."

"I'm going, I'm going. Hurry up out here."

"Hurrying."

* * *

  
in which a month or so passes

* * *

  
"Just tell her," Marshall said. "She might doubt you at first, but she'll believe you after a while."

"Jesus, could you go away?" Mary complained. "I'm a little busy here."

Shelly raised an eyebrow. "You want me to leave? It might complicate my evaluation a little bit."

"Not you…" Mary waved a hand towards Marshall's position, a little to the psychologist's let. "You know what, forget it. Get on with your evaluating. I have work to be doing."

"You're the one who said I could come along," he reminded her, turning to look out the window.

Mary groaned and gave up trying to look sane. "On the condition that you didn't say anything, especially about telling her about you."

He shrugged. "Ask Shelly when the hummingbirds built their nest."

"How is she supposed to know?"

Marshall glanced at her over his shoulder. "I told her to keep an eye out for them this year. The tree's perfect for them. Just ask."

"Fine. Shelly, when did the hummingbirds build their nest?"

The psychologist looked warily at her. "About a week ago."

Marshall grinned. "I was right! She owes me dinner."

"Wait a second," Mary complained. "You bet a dinner on when some stupid hummingbirds would build their nest?"

Shelly nodded, startled. "Marshall said you'd laugh at him when you found out…"

"Oh, trust me, I'm not laughing," Mary said. "He finally found a profitable use for all that pointless knowledge. Besides, you could always owe me the dinner, seeing as how Marshall isn't too big on eating these days."

"You probably shouldn't have said that," he told her, coming to sit in the extra chair.

"Well, why not? As long as I'm already talking to you, may as well talk about you. Besides, it's the truth. You steal bites of everything I get, but it's nothing compared to how you used to eat."

"Almost everything," he corrected, "and that's because I don't have to keep my full anymore, but I still like the taste. All I'm saying is, Shelly doesn't look to fond of the casual remark."

"As long as she just sits there gaping at me, she isn't writing down anything that would put me out of work. I'm sure I can steal the notepad before she reacts." She grinned at Marshall, and he couldn't help but laugh. "It's been two months, anyway. I can be as casual about you as I want."

He shrugged. "Three months since I died. She's going to jump on about that as soon as she starts thinking again."

"So now that you've blown my cover and I look completely insane, I hope you have some secret plan to convince her you're real."

Marshall smirked. "I'm step ahead of you. The hummingbirds, remember? Next, you can tell her things only I would know about. Details of the date she and I went on--"

"Jesus, Marshall, I don't want to hear about you screwing my shrink, even at the price of my sanity. No sense proving you're real if I go insane from the mental images."

Shelly finally recovered enough to look offended. "We never had any sexual contact," she informed Mary. "Now I want you to leave."

"Leave? I can't just leave now, not with you--"

"Mer, we're leaving. Come on."

"Why? We need to convince her--"

"No, we need to give her space to think and process, and she'll call you when she's done. She isn't going to make any snap decisions regarding your sanity or your job until she talks to you again."

"Oh?" They both turned expectantly to Shelly, but she just looked blankly back at Mary.

"Whatever you just heard him say, you're going to have to repeat for me," she snapped.

"We're leaving now," Mary explained.

"Good."

"And you'll call us - me - when you've thought it out."

"Yes."

"And you won't tell anyone else about this no matter what you decide until you talk to us again."

Shelly glared at her. "Fine. Now get out."

Marshall leaned towards her as they left the psychologist's office. "You shouldn't have pushed so much, Mer. She was agreed, but now she's just mad."

"Well, too bad. I need my guarantees that nobody's going to take my badge without warning."

"It's not 'too bad' when that anger makes her less accepting and leads to your badge being taken with warning. How much better is that?"

Mary paused. "Well… damn. Why didn't you stop me?"

"Have you ever tried stopping you once your mind was made up?" He smiled and shook his head. "I tried, but you didn't notice. All we do now is hope for the best."

She sighed and unlocked her car. "Why didn't you leave me your ability to read people instead of all your junk?"

"The second I work out how to pass on incorporeal inheritances, that skill will be all yours, along with some human decency and the ability to be nice."

* * *

  
in which a week or so passes

* * *

  
"Mary, do you have a minute?"

She glanced up from her computer and nodded. "For you Stan? I suppose so. Providing no witnesses call me, barge in the door, die, get arrested, get their children--"

"Good, thank you." He sat on the edge of her desk and said nothing for an awkward moment. "So… what are you working on?"

"Solitaire." She swung the monitor towards him to show off her victorious game. "Lecture about appropriate use of office time?"

Stan shook his head. "If you… ah… don't mind now… I mean, it's up to you… I just thought…"

"Spit it out."

"I have some questions about Marshall's death that I just can't figure out."

Mary glanced around quickly, but Marshall was reading a file over Eleanor's shoulder in Stan's office. "Shoot."

"Do you think they knew it was ruse?"

She laughed. "You think the hitmen knew I took away their target with essentially no protection and left my partner in a theoretically high-security room? That they purposefully knocked off a US Marshal instead of the easy target the dangerous witness would have made as he walked out of there? They weren't quite that stupid, Stan, and they certainly weren't that smart."

"So their surprise in the courtroom…"

"They honestly thought they'd gotten their mark. "Who's stupid enough to change places with a man slated to die, anyway?"

He shrugged. "It was a solid plan."

"If I hadn't counted on them realized he was the wrong guy when they saw him instead of when their charges were read."

"This is absolutely not your fault," Stan said in a calming voice. "If I'd gotten Marshall the backup you had in your plan originally…"

"Sure, because you're the one who decided that a Marshal or two should be able to hold his own against three snipers." She stood up and pushed her chair in hard enough to knock everything standing on the desk over. Stan put a protective hand on her computer as he rose to counter her. "Judge Reinhart is to blame for that particular stupidity."

Marshall stuck his head out of the office at the noise. "Are you two arguing over whose fault it is that I'm dead?" he asked. "Because if so, you know you should throw me in, too."

"Shut up!" she snapped, interrupting Stan before he could reply to her slight on the judge. "You're not going to make me blame you for my plan."

Stan followed her glare to where he saw Eleanor in the door, watching the confrontation. "Mary…"

"You shut up, too. It wasn't your goddamn fault, either. Sure, more protection would have been nice, if you'd fought just a little harder for it, but what good is a bodyguard against snipers? About as much use as a supervisor who lets his men fend for themselves."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself, Mer," Marshall told her quietly in the silence that followed. "You're no good to your boss, your witnesses, or especially your partner as long as you think you killed the last one."

"Sure, now you're concerned about the man you think is going to rape me." Mary laughed bitterly and followed him with her eyes as he moved away from Eleanor. "Tell me, then, who should I blame?"

"Nobody."

Her fist slammed onto her desk, jarring the overturned containers again. "I have to blame somebody! You know me. You know how I work." Marshall started moving towards her, and she took a step back out of reflex.

"Then blame the ones who pulled their triggers. The people who hired them. They're the ones who killed me."

"They didn't know it was you." Stan silently pressed a tissue into her hand, and she wiped away tears she didn't know she'd cried. Marshall paused and stared at her in disbelief.

"So it's not their fault I'm dead?"

She sat down heavily and stared at the floor, searching for answers. "It's their fault somebody's dead, just not that it was you. That's on me."

"I could have said no to your plan," he whispered, kneeling in front of her.

"I would have talked you into it anyway," she answered in a tortured murmur. "Jesus, Marshall, you'll do anything for a witness and anything for me. I know how to use that to get what I want. I shouldn't have even had the idea. Shouldn't have shared the plan."

He dropped his head to her knees, curled his hands tentatively around her hips. "I was half a step behind you. If you hadn't thought of it, I would have. What better place to hide a witness who looks like me than right beside you?"

"You can't make me blame you," she told him, threading the fingers of one hand in his hair and gripping tightly.

"All I want is for you to stop blaming yourself."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay, I'll try."

The short silence that descended was broken by the quiet thump of Eleanor sliding down to sit on the floor. "Is that… Marshall?"

"Yes," Stan answered, just as shakily. "I believe it is."

* * *

  
"Marshall, do you think you age?"

He looked up from the morning newspaper's sudoku with one eyebrow raised. "How am I supposed to know? It's only been nine months. I probably won't figure it out for years."

Mary shrugged. "Just a question. Anyway, people can change a lot in nine months."

"Fetuses go from one cell to almost functional human beings, infants double in size, and you become an almost civil housemate. Big changes." He laughed as she glared at him over her cereal. "I should only be so lucky as to age. I'll be your house slave for the rest of your life if I can't claim bad health."

"And you think I'll let you get out of it if you complained of a bad back? News flash - I'm pretty sure you can't hurt yourself too badly, seeing as how you can't die again. Old age is no excuse, if it happens."

"Lots of people like to say that age is a mental thing, anyway." Marshall looked pointedly at her bowl of Cap'n Crunch. "I'm not entirely sure you age."

She flicked a square of the cereal at him. "Much as I try to deny it, my friends and family always want to celebrate my getting older."

"Oh." He picked up the pen and turned back to his puzzle. "So that's what this is about. Don't worry about it, Mer. It doesn't bother me."

"You don't care what happens on your birthday?"

He shook his head. "Not really. Of course, if you wanted to let me pick the movie we watch that night, that'd be just fine, but I'm not sure you're entirely capable of it."

A smile spread slowly across Mary's face. "If you pick the movie, you don't care what else happens, all day? It's a Saturday, you know."

"Oh god, what are you planning now?" He filled in a number and looked back up.

"Nothing much." She looked at him innocently and took another bite of cereal.

"Mary."

"Just a little party, maybe."

He sighed. "A you and me party? Sure. Maybe you should go out and celebrate."

"Nah, you wouldn't come with me, and what fun is it to celebrate without the birthday boy? I'll just call Stan, Eleanor, and Shelly - that's a small party."

"Great, a party for the invisible dead guy, just what I want." He glared at the newspaper. "Just forget about it."

Mary frowned. "They're your friends. It doesn't matter that you're dead, that doesn't change. Besides, they can see you now."

"Yeah, if I practically sit on you all night, they'll see me. Not exactly your idea of fun."

"You know what, Marshall? This isn't about me for once. The closest it comes to being about me is me wanting you to have a decent birthday. I think I can handle holding your hand or leaning on you all night - it's not like I don't use you as an armrest most nights, anyway. Now stop thinking about me - I can handle that more than adequately on my own - and tell me the real reason you don't want this to happen."

"The real reason." He stared at her in disbelief. "You want to know the _real_ reason I don't think you should have a birthday party for a dead guy."

She nodded. "That would be what I asked."

"Christ, Mer, that _is_ the real reason! _You are_ the real reason." He tossed the pen on the table and started pacing, refusing to meet her eye. "Since I died, you've barely spoken to your family. Since I practically moved in ... You don't go out anymore. You don't do anything fun. You shouldn't just be sitting around here with me, okay? You need to get out, do something. Don't waste your life with someone who's done living." He stilled, facing away from her, rested his hands on the counter, and dropped his head. "The sad thing is, it's always about you, even when it's about me. You should know that by now."

For a long moment, the only sound was Mary's spoon against the bowl as she finished her cereal. When its clang echoed the final time, she sighed and pushed her chair back.

"I should know that by now," she answered, "but I was hoping you'd learned how to be selfish. Then again, maybe you have, if you want to deny me whatever happiness I find." She came up behind him and put her hand on his back, stopping his reply. "If people can be alive without actually living, without enjoying it, then I say you can live without being alive. Agreed?" She didn't wait for answer before spinning him around to face her. "And since when do I let you stop me from doing what I want to do, anyway? If I wanted to go out, I know where the car keys are. The logical conclusion here is that I don't want to go out, isn't it?"

"Maybe if you actually went, you'd feel differently."

She stared. "God, Marshall, that's like saying, 'You'll want these drugs once they're in your system and have ruined your ability to think clearly.' What the hell happened to you?"

"I died." He sighed and tried to move away, but she trapped him between her body and the counter. "You didn't. It's been too long, and I'm sorry. I should leave; you should find a living companion and move on."

"So get me a goddamn puppy. You obviously want to stay, anyway. And you're not allowed to go anywhere until I say you're free to leave."

Marshall laughed, sadness echoing in his voice. "Of course I want to stay, but you have your own life to live now. Go meet somebody you can have a real, _live_ friendship with. Hell, start a relationship. I'll be here when you're done, and that's when I'll stay. Until then, the rest of this forever should be yours, not mine."

A small smile started to spread on her face. "Mine, to give to whoever I want? Share with whoever I want?" He nodded, turned away, and she let him take a few steps before answering. "You, you idiot. Where am I going to find someone who cares about me enough to be there in the morning, much less after they die?"

He paused. "This would be so much easier if you were still convinced I was a hallucination."

"Oh, shut up and get back here," she laughed. "You're the noble kind of guy, right?"

Marshall eyed her warily as she pushed his back up against a wall. "Y...es?"

"Good. So all I have to do to make you stay is sleep with you. That all still works, right?"


End file.
